In Constant Fear (30 page)

“I don't know who's jailer or prisoner,” she added.

“The Bitch is the jailer,” Gordie chipped in.

“I just hope that baby's okay,” Delilah croaked.

“Thanks, Lile,” I told her. “I'm sure they're fine.”

“One blind and the other still in arms,” Lile muttered, making it plain she didn't share my confidence.

Again there was silence, outta respect for my loss, I guessed, but you knew it wasn't gonna last for long, that people needed to talk.

“You actually fought her?” Sheila asked, picking up on something I'd said earlier.

“Wasn't much of a fight,” I admitted.

“That strong, huh?”

“Like a man-made force of nature,” I told her. “I don't know about the Bodyguards; in theory, they're only fifty percent of what she is.”

“Maybe we'll find out,” Sheila said, actually sounding like she was relishing the prospect.

“Jimmy, could you switch that thing off?” I asked.

“What?” he asked, having no idea what I was talking about.

“The satellite.”

“Clancy—!” Delilah protested.

“Yeah, just a small point, Big Guy,” Jimmy said, “but that's all that's standing between us and being massacred.”

“Just thinking.”

“Yeah, well—not cool. If that's the best you can come up with, maybe you should leave it alone.”

“I don't see you coming up with much,” I snapped.

At that point, with emotions getting a little agitated, and as weird as it might sound, Lile burst into song; all bruised and bluesy, and everyone gladly shut up to listen.

Through the branches I could see the Doc lying where he'd exiled himself, outside in the long grass, about as far away from us as he
could get, almost on the edge of where the ground was glowing, as if he was lying beside a luminous lake. He was a broken man, dirty and disheveled, aware he had a death sentence hanging over his head, that the moment she had no more use for him, the Bitch was gonna take full revenge.

He was still using his precious case as a pillow, as if, no matter what, that was the one valuable he was determined to hang onto. Somewhere in there was a program that, as far as I was concerned, was utterly priceless, but ya know something, in that moment, I didn't care. All I wanted was to know that Lena and Thomas were safe; whether she could see or not was irrelevant—and maybe that was the point she'd been trying to make all that time. Maybe I finally understood?

Several times in the night the pressure-field was triggered, the siren went off and the Bodyguard started running around getting all excited. The first couple of occasions I was terrified it might be Lena and Thomas; my old heart started racing as fast as it could go, but in the end we realized it was only animals wandering into the clearing.

Jimmy kept shifting position, plainly no more able to sleep than I was, eventually moving that bit closer to me so no one else could hear him. “Why d'ya want the satellite turned off?” he muttered.

“I dunno. Just struck me we might need it at some point.”

“Easy enough,” he said.

“What about your tools?” I asked, presuming he'd lost them when the Bodyguard destroyed the shelter.

Jimmy gave that smile I'd become so familiar with—the old magician still capable of the odd new trick—and proceeded to lift the blanket he was lying on, to scratch and scrape at the mossy grass and reveal a square of turf that he rolled back like a kinda trapdoor. Underneath there was all kindsa stuff: tools, various pieces of techno, the small generator and gas Sheila had given him. “Cool, huh?”

“When did you do that?”

“Last night, after you left.”

“I'm glad you're on my side,” I told him, feeling the little guy deserved a compliment.

We fell to silence for a while, gazing out at that silver patch of ground as if both of us were adrift on our respective seas of concern.

“You know something, Big Guy?” he eventually whispered. “We've got ourselves in another damn prison.”

“Yeah, well . . . let's just hope this isn't the condemned cell,” I replied.

I must've finally dozed off, 'cuz the sound of the pressure-field powering down woke me at first light. I took a long look outside, particularly along the forest edge, I guess hoping to see Lena and Thomas, some sign that they were okay, but there was nothing. I just didn't get it. 'Course I was glad they hadn't been captured,
but where the hell were they?

I struggled up, feeling so stiff I tripped over just about everyone on my way out. I was hoping that, at that hour of the day, I could take a leak and maybe sneak over to the log before anyone saw me, but as soon as I emerged, one of the Bodyguard, a woman this time, followed me.

“D'you mind?” I said, how close she was wondering if I'd just discovered a long-lost Siamese twin.

“No,” she replied, and damned if she wouldn't even turn her back when I was doing my business, just stood there watching, determined not to allow me even a second outta her sight.

On my way back to the shelter I managed to deviate just enough from my route to be able to see the woodpile in the distance—Jesus, there were a coupla Bodyguards sitting on the actual log! She
couldn't
still be there—not unless she'd tunneled underneath. And how the hell would she keep Thomas quiet?
Dammit, Lena, where are you?

When I got back to the shelters the villagers were being rounded up again, penned in by the Bodyguard, their fear of their captors more than enough to make them do as they were told. I thought something was about to happen, that after a night's sleep Nora Jagger'd come up with a plan, but all they did was make us stand there for hour after hour with no food or water.

It was midday before she finally appeared, more than enough time for me to work out that'd been part of a plan.

Don't ask me why but she'd slicked her hair back so it was all flat and shiny, which only went to accentuate the killing field that was her face. The first thing she did was to take one look at our partly rebuilt shelter and kick it over again. I glanced at Jimmy; the little guy was looking more than a little nervous that she might plant her foot down in his hideaway and he'd lose all his stuff, but she turned to address a couple of Bodyguards, ensuring that none of the villagers had been allowed food or drink.

At the sound of her voice only feet away, the Doc, who hadn't moved from where he'd been all night, instantly tried to slide away on his back like some disorientated snake—but it was no use.

She glared at him, utterly contemptuous of what he'd become, opening her mouth to say something—but then stopped when she saw his case.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

He hesitated for a moment, looking a little like a guilty schoolboy. “Yes.”

“Everything?”

“Yes.”

Instantly a twisted smile slithered out of its hole and wrapped itself around her face, as if all her frustration had suddenly been lifted. “Well, well,” she said, turning to me.

I stared at her for a moment, waiting for her to say more, wondering why she suddenly looked so happy. “What?” I asked.

“Punishment satellites,” she announced, as if she was starting a speech or reminiscing about the past, and all the Bodyguards and villagers turned to listen. “Brilliant invention . . . Amazing. Just about wiped out crime at a stroke. A bit crude, but—”

“Got that right,” Jimmy agreed.

She scowled at the little guy, furious he should dare interrupt her. “But . . . there were rumors; some people reckoned there were errors in the postural programming, that if you went about it right, there
was
still a way of getting away with murder . . .
literally
.” She paused, looking
around in such a manner some of the villagers started shuffling backward, and I could sense the balance in this situation violently shifting; that this stalemate was about to be terminated. “D'you know how?”

Again she addressed the question to me, but I didn't answer, and nor anyone else.

“Just the one way as far as I know,” she added.

“Is that a fact?” I said, trying to sound as if I couldn't be less interested.

“Injection,” she told me, after a slight pause. “The satellite couldn't differentiate between what was being given to cure and what was being given to kill. Internal cameras, yeah, of course, but from up there . . .”

She glared at the Doc, then at his case, waiting for him to speak.

“I . . . I don't have anything,” he told her.

“You did,” she reminded him, and the Doc plainly wished she hadn't.

“It's gone.”

She reached forward and wrenched the case out of his hand.

“
No!
” he cried.

“You sure you don't have anything?” she asked, raising it over her head, about to smash it down on the ground.

“No, no—wait—!
Wait
! Maybe I have,” he told her.

She obviously knew what she was after, 'cuz the moment he opened his case she went straight for this one container and handed it to the Doc, ordering him to arm his syringe. It was quite a shock to realize he'd done something like that before, that he wasn't the good guy at heart I'd always wanted him to be.

The Bitch ordered everyone to line up in rows, obviously beginning to enjoy herself as she marched up and down, the steady
slurp-slurp
of those legs frightening the hell outta all of us.

“Where are Lena and the baby?” she casually asked, like she was inquiring about the way to the nearest bank or something. She paused for a moment, looking from left to right, but no one answered, nor even met her gaze, though an older woman a coupla rows back did start whining like a frightened dog.

“Where are Lena and the baby?” the Bitch repeated slowly, but still no one replied.

She knew she couldn't make a sudden movement, that she couldn't appear to do anything that might look like an act of violence, so just slid her arm around the nearest person—a short, wiry man, maybe in his fifties, apparently too frightened to do anything but just go rigid with fear—pulling him outta the line, hugging him around the shoulders as if they were friends, but plainly using that incredible grip of hers.

“Where are Lena and the baby?” she repeated as if she was losing patience, that this would be the last time.

There was a pause and people started to look from one to another. “We don't know,” Sheila said.

The Bitch waited a few moments longer, and getting no further response, gestured for the Doc to inject the guy.

“
We don't know!
” Sheila repeated.

“Do it,” she ordered, as if she hadn't heard a thing.

“What about the satellite?” the Doc whined.

“It won't register it—now
do
it!”

“No!” Sheila protested, but several of the Bodyguard crowded around her before she could make any kinda move.

The villagers began panicking, too scared to protest but too horrified not to react, again the Doc hesitated, but I guessed he realized it was his last chance to get back into her good books, to save his own miserable hide, and he jabbed the needle into the guy's arm, turning away as he pushed in the plunger, his victim almost immediately starting to convulse.

Nora Jagger released her hold and let him fall and for several moments there was no sound other than the repeated scraping of the guy's feet on the ground, back and forth, back and forth, as he shuddered and jerked his way to oblivion. The Bitch just stood there smiling at the horrified villagers, enjoying their reactions, giving the fear time to percolate right through them.

“So,” she said, “who's next?”

I guess Nick had already guessed what was about to happen and had decided what his reaction would be. “Me,” he said, stepping forward.

“
Nooo!
” Hanna wailed.

“Who are
you
, for chrissake?” the Bitch sneered.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Don't ask me why, but for some reason she appeared to find the way he'd stood up to her, what he was ready to do, utterly pathetic. She laughed at him like he was some miserable form of life that wasn't worth bothering with. “Nah, too eager. Where's the fun in that? Let's make it . . .” she teased, working her way up and down the line, “
this
one.”

I wasn't altogether surprised to see her point at Jimmy. There was a score to settle there, too, but for sure that didn't make it any easier. Delilah gave out with this long, croaky cry, doing her best to hold onto him, but he was wrenched from her with ease, and before I could react, I felt four prosthetic arms lock around my shoulders, like I had two of the strongest buddies in the world.

Jimmy struggled, if not hard, then certainly busily, his bald head bobbing up and down, his ponytail flapping from side to side, trying his best to wriggle free. The Bitch glanced up a couple of times, obviously concerned about the satellite, but still managed to clamp her arm around him the same way she had her first victim, the little guy's strength fading along with his color.

“Now,” Nora Jagger challenged, Jimmy's eyes suddenly looking all glazed and distant, like an animal about to be slaughtered, “has anyone remembered where Lena and the baby are?”

I can't tell you how bad I felt: I was being asked to choose between my best friend and my lover and child—but what could I do? I turned to the Doc, not saying anything but pleading with my eyes, begging him not to do it, appealing to any scrap of decency left in him, but he just stared at the ground.

“Wait!” I cried, trying to buy some time, wondering if I could tell them about the log—but how confident was I that Lena and Thomas had gone? Not that I was the only one wrestling with a dilemma.

“Clancy,” Delilah called, “
no.
” I turned to her, not understanding. “We've had our time—don't you betray that baby for us.”